


Sweet and Twenty

by bizzybee



Category: Fire Emblem: Fuukasetsugetsu | Fire Emblem: Three Houses
Genre: 5+1 Things, Friends to Lovers, Love Confessions, M/M, Practice Kissing, Pre and Post Timeskip, back at it again with fluffy first kiss fics, technically vw route but like it can be read as any route except azure moon (sorry dimitri), what more do i need to say. it's soft. it's gay. it's casphardt
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-03-05
Updated: 2020-03-05
Packaged: 2021-02-28 18:47:20
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,209
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23031943
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/bizzybee/pseuds/bizzybee
Summary: "It reminds Linhardt of their childhood days - of all those afternoons sitting under a birch tree, watching Caspar run about. Of all those naps under that willow by the pond while Caspar splashed in the shallows. Of all those books read beneath the tall pines of the monastery as Caspar trained in the courtyard."Five times a kiss didn't mean anything, and the one time it did.
Relationships: Caspar von Bergliez/Linhardt von Hevring
Comments: 18
Kudos: 192





	Sweet and Twenty

**Author's Note:**

> Many thanks to the Casphardt server who both helped come up with specific instances for this fic, as well as planted the idea in my mind in the first place! 
> 
> Title comes from the Twelfth Night quote, _"Then come kiss me, sweet and twenty."_
> 
> **Content Warnings** :  
> \- 2 has one blink-and-you'll-miss-it reference to implied child abuse  
> \- 5 contains references to alcohol consumption  
> If either of those trigger or bother you, feel free to skip that section.

* * *

**1.**

* * *

Linhardt doesn’t think he likes Caspar Bergliez. He’s small, loud, and is missing both his front teeth.

From the moment Caspar grabs his hand and pulls him away from his father’s side, where Linhardt was quite happy relaxing, thank you very much, Linhardt has thought this. 

“Last time I was here I found this secret passage,” Caspar rambles, a slight lisp on his S’s as he pulls Linhardt by the hand through the gardens surrounding the Palace of Enbarr. “It leads to a lake!”

Linhardt doesn’t bother replying. He’s learned quickly that replies aren’t needed with Caspar. Instead, he yawns, free hand coming up to cover his mouth. He wishes he could go back to his father. 

“Look!” Caspar says, pushing through a gap in a hedge. “It’s over here!”

Linhardt doesn’t want to get his clothes dirty, honestly, but Caspar’s pulling on his hand, and so he steps through the hedge, ignoring the catch of twigs on his hair and robes. 

Caspar lets go of his hand when he emerges, throwing up his arms triumphantly. “Tah-dah!” he proclaims, turning back to see Linhardt’s reaction.

Linhardt blinks rapidly, trying to clear the sun from his eyes. He has to admit, it is a sight. A moderately-sized lake, a chain of gazebos linking from shore to shore, with trees dotting the landscape surrounding it. “Remarkable,” he murmurs, more to himself than to Caspar. 

“What’s that mean?” Caspar asks, then shakes his head. “Never mind, here!” and he takes Linhardt’s hand again, pulling him over to a willow tree, ducking under the fronds until the shade covers both their heads. “Now you can take a nap!”

Linhardt blinks again. “A nap?”

“Well,” Caspar trails out the word. “Father says you sleep a lot and he also said some other not very nice things that I didn’t want to hear, so I thought you would like to sleep under a tree! It’s nice, I promise.”

“Oh.” Linhardt doesn’t much care about what else the Count Bergliez said - his father says the same about their family - but he does have to admire Caspar’s unexpected thoughtfulness.

“Here, lay down,” Caspar encourages, and gestures towards the tree. 

Linhardt complies, and he has to admit it’s quite nice, reclining against the wide trunk, legs extended in front of him. He did miss his afternoon nap after all, traipsing across the grounds with Caspar. 

“Is it good?”

“It’s very nice,” Linhardt admits. 

“Yes!” Caspar pumps his fist in the air, and then before Linhardt can react, bends down, kissing Linhardt on the top of his head. “Oh, Linhardt, we’re going to be best friends forever.”

Linhardt smiles up at him. 

Maybe Caspar isn’t so bad, after all. 

* * *

**2.**

* * *

Linhardt doesn’t know why he lives at the castle in Enbarr, now, but he knows enough not to ask questions. At best, his father will scold him and tell him not to worry about it. At worst, Count Bergliez and Marquis Vestra will give him a hit across the jaw for it. 

At the very least, he thinks, Caspar is here. Caspar’s last letter to him, which read _“are yu comng too enbar next wek?”_ confused him, at least until the next day, when his father told him to pack a bag. 

Now his days are filled with spending time with Caspar, and sometimes the other noble children, Ferdinand and Hubert, though he enjoys Caspar’s presence best of all. They sit in the grass in those same gardens where they met, playing board games, with Caspar taking breaks to run back and forth between the board and a tree not far away every time he made a particularly clever move. Then, in the afternoons, Linhardt would watch Caspar ‘train’ as he pretended to swing an axe at that same tree, Linhardt dozing in the tall grass. 

None of the Princes or Princesses ever played with them, but Linhardt doesn’t ask about that. None of the children do. One day, Ferdinand tells him, in his boastful tone that means he's telling a very important secret, Hubert asked and got a terrible beating and that’s why he stays in his rooms all day, now. 

So Linhardt rests, reading his books (by now he reckons he’s about halfway through the Enbarr library), and Caspar keeps up a rambling dialogue that he only half-listens to. Though his lisp is gone, Caspar’s only gotten louder and louder. 

Until, one day, as Caspar talks his way through a fight he witnessed once in the marketplace in front of Bergliez Manor for the fourth time, his voice cuts off with a cry. Linhardt looks up to see Caspar planted on the ground, tears welling up as he clutches at his leg.

“Caspar?” He calls. 

“I hurt my stupid knee,” Caspar spits out. 

Linhardt sighs and pushes himself to his feet, flipping his book over to save his place. He walks over to Caspar, eyes squinting to try and see his injury. 

And it’s nothing, the tiniest scratch. It makes Linhardt want to laugh, so he does. 

“It’s not funny,” Caspar sniffs, wiping his nose with one hand. “Go get my dad.”

“I’m not going to do that,” Linhardt says, lowering himself to the ground beside Caspar. “I can maybe try to heal it?”

Caspar’s tears stop abruptly as he looks up at Linhardt. “You know how to heal?”

Linhardt hums. “I know the basic concept of it. Haven’t actually tried.”

“Well, okay! My dad’ll hate it if I bug him, anyway.” Caspar wipes his nose again, leaning back on his hands and stretching his knee out towards Linhardt. “Go ahead.”

Linhardt squeezes his eyes shut, trying to remember what he’d read. He places his hands on Caspar’s knee, trying to gather magic inside him and channel it into the wound. When he opens his eyes, the wound isn’t healed, but it’s closed, just a bit. 

“Woah,” Linhardt looks up to see Caspar’s eyes widening. “That was so cool.”

“It didn’t heal all the way,” Linhardt complains, placing his chin in his hands. 

“Aw, that’s okay, Linny. It doesn’t hurt too bad anymore.”

Linhardt smiles. “Here, my mother always does this and it helps me.” And he leans forward, pressing his lips against the scratch before leaning back on his hands to mirror Caspar’s position. “Did that help?”

“It did!” Caspar grins. “You’re magic, Linny.”

Linhardt stretches back, laying on the soft grass beside Caspar. “I don’t know much about that one, Caspar.”

“Aw, that’s all right. I know it well enough.”

And it is enough, enough for that moment, laying under the sun with his best friend in the whole world. 

* * *

**3.**

* * *

“Linhardt!”

“What, Caspar?” Linhardt’s used to Caspar bursting into his room at any time of the day, now that they’re both at the Academy and around each other constantly, but he has to work to hide the hint of exasperation in his voice when Caspar crashes in just after dinner, eyes frantic.

It’s not an emergency. If it was, the professor would never be so foolish as to send Caspar to retrieve him.

“It’s an emergency!” Caspar exclaims. Linhardt sighs, glancing down at his novel and pressing his finger against his stopping point before bending down the corner and setting it on his nightstand. 

“What’s the emergency?” 

“The ball is next weekend.” 

“Okay.” It isn’t as though Caspar has been talking his ear off about it for the past month, except for he has. 

“What if someone asks me to the Goddess Tower?”

Linhardt blinks. “What do you mean?” He feels a weird twist in his chest, and he attributes it to the fact that he doesn’t quite know how to tell Caspar that it’s doubtful either one of them would be invited to the Tower. He can’t quite imagine Caspar gaining the courage to ask anyone, either.

“I’ve never kissed anyone before, Linhardt.”

Linhardt yawns. “Okay, and?” 

“What if they try to kiss me?”

“Caspar, I can assure you that if this mystery Goddess Tower attendee tries to kiss you, you’ll be able to pick it up right quick.”

“Ugh.” Caspar collapses on Linhardt’s bed, flat on his back with his legs hanging off the side. 

“You’ll be fine, Caspar. It’s not that hard.” 

“How would you know?”

Linhardt doesn’t answer. The silence speaks for him well enough. 

“What? No fair. Who did you kiss? You have to tell me.”

“Does it matter?”

“Who was it?”

“I don’t have to tell you everything, Caspar.”

Caspar doesn’t say anything, and when Linhardt looks down at him, his brow is furrowed, eyes flitting from side to side as they do whenever he’s deep in thought, the rare times he is. 

“Something on your mind?” Linhardt asks absentmindedly. “I was about to take a nap.”

“You have to help me practice,” Caspar blurts, and he sits up, staring at Linhardt. 

“What?”

“Practice kissing! You’re an expert.”

Linhardt snorts, folding his legs to his chest and resting his chin on his knees. “I definitely wouldn’t call myself an expert.”

“You know more than me,” Caspar shoots back. With a ridiculous pout on his face, he pleads, “Please, Linhardt.”

Linhardt hesitates. He’s never really kissed someone he especially likes, and it's only a few people at that. Never anyone where it would be awkward to see them the next day. But, then again, this is Caspar. They’re friends, and it’s not as though Caspar has feelings for Linhardt, or Linhardt for him. 

“Fine,” he says. “If you’re really that worried about it.”

“I am.”

Linhardt sheds his blankets, pushing himself to his feet next to his bed. “Okay, stand up.” 

Caspar bounces to his feet, and Linhardt feels a pang of endearment in his chest.

Linhardt clears his throat, sighing. "I forget how short you are sometimes. I’m going to have to bend down so far.” 

Caspar wrinkles his nose. “Aw, shut it, Lin.”

“I’m serious, Caspar. There’s truly about,” Linhardt clicks his tongue, reaching one hand to hover above Caspar’s head and the other to his own height. “Half a meter between us.”

“No way.”

“Ridiculous. Much too much work, bending down that far.”

“Ugh,” Caspar groans, raising one fist in the air. “I got this.” He stomps across Linhardt’s room, picking up a stool near Linhardt’s vanity and carrying it over. He sets it down in front of Linhardt before stepping on top of it, bringing them to about the same height.

Linhardt laughs. “You’re very keen.”

“I sure am,” Caspar yells. He looks at Linhardt. “Now what?”

Linhardt shrugs. “Put your hands on my shoulders, if you like.”

Caspar swallows, and does so, gripping them tightly. 

“Caspar, not that tight.” Linhardt corrects, reaching up to fix Caspar’s grip. “You’ll murder your date before anything even happens.”

“Ugh, sorry.” Caspar sighs, loosening his hold. 

“Better,” Linhardt says, and raises his hands to set them on Caspar’s waist. “Is this all right?”

“Yeah!” Caspar says, grinning. Linhardt smiles back. “What now?”

“Well, now, you kiss them.” Before Linhardt can even take a breath to prepare himself, though, Caspar's pushing forward, eyes squeezed shut. Linhardt raises one of his hands, pressing it against Caspar’s face and gently shoving him back. “Hold on, Caspar,” he says, laughing. 

“What?” Caspar’s voice is annoyed, almost angry. “I’m trying my best here.”

“You’re doing fine,” Linhardt says. “Maybe don’t get angry at your Goddess Tower date, though.”

“As if I would ever,” Caspar grumbles.

“Right, well, don’t just shove forward. Go slow.” Linhardt demonstrates, ducking his head towards Caspar. “Careful not to scare them off.”

Caspar swallows and nods. “Okay.” 

Linhardt stops. “Have to meet me halfway, Caspar.” 

“Oh! Right.” Caspar smiles, a light blush on his cheeks as he leans forward a bit. 

“Good,” Linhardt says. “That’s not too fast at all.”

Caspar is definitely not lying about never having kissed anyone before - Linhardt can tell that, at least. But it’s sweet, the way his hands move to cup Linhardt’s face, his dry lips clumsily fitting themselves over Linhardt's, the fact that Linhardt has to even lean up a bit to even out their displaced heights. 

Linhardt, for his part, tries his best to guide Caspar through it. He wraps his arms around his waist, tilting his head and gently raising one hand to gently push Caspar's head into the right angle when he tries to follow him. 

When Caspar pulls away, he's grinning, cheeks pink. "How'd I do?"

Linhardt swallows. "You did all right."

"Ugh," Caspar groans, dropping his hands back to his side. "All right isn't good enough."

Linhardt stifles his laughter. "Trust me, Caspar, if someone asks you to the Goddess Tower, you'll be just fine. I don't think anyone is expecting you to be an expert."

Caspar puts his hands on his hips, frowning down at Linhardt from his perch on the stool. "What's that supposed to mean?"

Linhardt just purses his lips and doesn't respond. 

"Fine, okay, I get it," Caspar sighs. "Thanks for helping, anyway, Lin." 

Linhardt freezes for a moment when Caspar reaches out for a hug, but reciprocates, resting his head on Caspar's shoulder.

As quickly as the hug starts, it ends, and Caspar hops off the stool, carrying it back to its rightful place.

"Don't sleep through class tomorrow!" He calls over his shoulder, door slamming behind him. 

Linhardt stands in the same spot Caspar left him, heart pounding. 

* * *

**4.**

* * *

Linhardt doesn't quite know how to react when Caspar is sad.

Caspar's walking at his side, kicking up dust that sticks to the dried blood and sweat on their army uniforms. Linhardt sneaks continued glances at him as they walk, concern furrowing his brow and pursing his lips. 

At any other time, Linhardt might treasure the silence that comes when Caspar is quiet, but today, now, after the battle they just faced, it’s worrying. 

After the death they just witnessed, even more so. 

Linhardt has always struggled making friends, and their school days were no different. He mostly just stuck to Caspar’s side, though he spoke to the rest of the Black Eagles, and a few others, like Marianne and Annette. Caspar, on the other hand, was always a bit of a social butterfly, his rough charm fluttering its way into other’s hearts easily. 

Of course, this means that he just has to watch all the more friends die, now that the continent is tearing itself apart. It’s interesting, Linhardt thinks. Caspar, while he thrives when it comes to fighting, hates to see his friends die. Linhardt, meanwhile, hates fighting, hates blood, but doesn’t really care enough about any of his former classmates to feel any stronger feeling than his general foggy distraught for all the other unnecessary losses of life. 

And now, with Caspar like this, Linhardt doesn’t know what to say, what to do. He’s never been known for his ability to comfort. 

“Caspar,” he tries, and winces as he steps closer, one hand alighting on his friend’s shoulder. “Is everything all right?” It’s a dumb question, and Linhardt knows it, but Caspar looks up at him, tears in his eyes. 

“No,” he admits. 

“Do you want to, er, talk about it?” Linhardt has newfound respect for Dorothea’s ability to empathize. 

A tear runs trail through the dust coating Caspar's cheek. “Do you remember that promise we made to each other last month? About surviving the war?”

Linhardt can recognize when someone is dodging a question, particularly when it’s Caspar, but he lets it slide this time. “Of course.”

“Just don’t go dying on me, all right?” Caspar’s voice cracks at the last word, and he turns away, quickly wiping his eyes with the heels of his hands.

“Oh, Caspar,” Linhardt says, and he wraps one arm around his shoulders. “I won’t. Who else will be there to patch you up if it's not me?”

That pulls a small laugh out of Caspar. “More like the other way around,” he grumbles, and leans against Linhardt’s shoulder as they walk.

That night, Linhardt isn’t surprised when Caspar shows up in his doorway again, washed up and in his nightclothes. He looks hesitant, nervous in a way Caspar isn’t, standing there.

“Oh, there you are, Caspar,” Linhardt smiles, just for the joy of seeing the embarrassment melt off Caspar’s face. “I was beginning to think you wouldn’t come.”

“Aw, Linhardt, I know you had a rough day.”

A blatant lie, but Linhardt allows it. “Come here.”

Caspar crosses the room, sitting on the edge of Linhardt’s bed as Linhardt rearranges his pillows. 

“If you steal the sheets again, you’re sleeping on the floor,” Linhardt says sternly, opening the blankets to allow Caspar to slide in next to him. 

“No fair,” Caspar groans. “I’m bigger than you, so I need more.”

“Yes, well, my bed, my rules.”

Caspar huffs, turning on his side so he’s facing away from Linhardt. “Fine.”

“You won’t freeze to death, I promise.”

“Shut up.”

Linhardt sighs, laying back to stare at the ceiling. 

It’s only when he hears the sniffling that he realizes Caspar isn’t doing the same. 

“Caspar?” 

He doesn’t reply. 

“I know you’re not asleep.”

Caspar groans, flipping onto his back. “I just can’t believe he died.” 

Linhardt stays silent, waiting for him to continue. 

“Did you know we had a cat together?” Caspar laughs shakily, rubbing his eyes. “I never did find it again, when we returned to the Monastery. We would feed it treats. It was nice.”

“That does sound nice.”

“When the war first started, I was so excited. It was finally a chance to prove how strong I am, right?”

“I know. You wouldn’t shut up about it.”

Caspar’s nose crinkles in the way it always does when he’s annoyed. “You know you loved it." He looks down, picking at the blanket absently. "I mean, I like the- the fighting and all. I just didn’t- I guess, didn’t think that- people I love-,” he swallows, falling silent. 

“I know,” Linhardt says. “It’s all right, Caspar. And it’s like I said earlier,” he shifts closer, stretching one arm out so it rests across Caspar’s chest. “You’ll always have me. I promise not to die.” 

“You better not,” Caspar mutters. “If you die, I’ll kill you.” 

Linhardt laughs. “I would count on it.”

Caspar sighs and presses himself closer, nudging Linhardt with one arm.

Linhardt complies, reaching his other arm to wrap around Caspar’s shoulders. Caspar turns on his side again, pulling Linhardt’s hand into his. They’ve spent many nights like this, during the war. There’s something quite comforting about Caspar beside him, close enough to share their heat, and maybe get through the night without nightmares, just this once.

Linhardt gently brushes Caspar’s hair back from the nape of his neck with his free hand, pressing a gentle kiss to a scar just at the top of his spine. Caspar doesn’t say anything, just sighs, leaning in closer as Linhardt presses a few more kisses to that same spot before falling back, resting his head on the pillow beside him. 

Caspar squeezes their joined hands. “‘Night, Linhardt.” 

Linhardt thinks he can still hear silent tears in his friend's voice, so he shifts, resting his head on Caspar’s back. It’s not the most comfortable position to sleep in, but he’s had worse, and if anyone’s worth that, it’s Caspar. 

“Goodnight, Caspar.”

* * *

**5.**

* * *

War is difficult on the best of days. There’s rare reasons to celebrate during such deadly times, and everyone tends to distract themselves differently. 

Every so often; however, a more adventurous type, usually Sylvain or Raphael, will rope the rest of the army generals into what can be generously described as a party. In reality, it's a pooling of rations in a mock attempt of a refreshments table, and enough alcohol to drown a fleet of soldiers. 

None of their former friends died in their siege last week, which is as good a reason to celebrate as anything. Caspar, for one, is ready to let his energy out, and Linhardt is happy to join him, sitting at the edge of the dining hall and watching as Caspar dashes from group to group, intermingling with everyone with a grin on his face. 

It reminds Linhardt of their childhood days - of all those afternoons sitting under a birch tree, watching Caspar run about. Of all those naps under that willow by the pond while Caspar splashed in the shallows. Of all those books read beneath the tall pines of the monastery as Caspar trained in the courtyard.

Some things never change, after all. 

Linhardt never lets himself get truly drunk; he finds his brain is foggy enough these days without the assistance of alcohol, but he does feel a pleasant buzzing in his heart by the time Caspar drops down next to him, somehow out of breath and full of energy at the same time.

“Linny!” he all but yells, and Linhardt lifts his own glass to his mouth to cover his smile. 

“Yes, Caspar?”

“Be my second in a drinking contest against Raph and Ignatz.”

Linhardt snorts. “No, thank you.”

“Please,” Caspar whines, draping himself across Linhardt’s shoulder. Right. Caspar is touchy when he’s buzzed. Linhardt ignores the heat rising in his cheeks at the feeling of Caspar’s face pressed into the junction between his shoulder and his neck. 

“Absolutely not. I know in no uncertain terms that I would barely be able to hold off against Ignatz, much less Raphael.” 

Caspar just mumbles something that sounds like, “You’re no fun,” but Linhardt is much too distracted at the feel of his lips brushing against the dip of his collarbone as he speaks to spend time trying to listen. 

Linhardt shoves his shoulder up, and Caspar flops back onto the table behind them, arms spread wide. “Please, Linny.”

“I said no,” Linhardt scolds, but he’s smiling. “I’m sure Ferdinand would be happy to join in. Ask him.”

“I wanted to do it with you.” Caspar furrows his brow, pouting. 

“Tough Teutates.” Linhardt clicks his tongue consolingly. “Go on now, Caspar. I’ll watch. If you win, I’ll even cheer.”

That makes Caspar smile. “You’re the best, Linny.” He sits up fully, and then hesitates, giving Linhardt a sly glance out of the corner of his eye. “Kiss for good luck?”

Linhardt rolls his eyes. “Really?”

“It’s against Raph, Linny. I need all the luck I can get.”

Linhardt’s heart stutters. “In the dining hall though, Caspar, truly?”

“Yes?” he says it like a question. 

Linhardt pauses. Drums his fingers along the side of his glass. Makes a decision. “Fine.”

Not giving Caspar a chance to respond, Linhardt swoops over, taking Caspar’s chin in his hand and pressing a swift peck to his lips. He’s just tipsy enough to blush over it as he leans back, watching Caspar’s face unfold into a grin. 

Caspar whoops, throwing his fist into the air. “Thanks, Linny!” He jumps from the bench, racing in Raphael and Ignatz’s direction with an indecipherable yell. 

Linhardt chuckles, leaning back and placing his own glass on the table behind him. He sighs, not especially surprised when Dorothea takes the spot that Caspar had only just vacated, a knowing twinkle in her eyes.

“Don’t start,” Linhardt says.

“So,” Dorothea nudges his side with her elbow. “You and Caspie, huh?”

“Absolutely not.” He picks back up his glass, taking another sip to avoid looking at her. 

“Aw, Linhardt. I didn’t think anyone could get under your skin so easily.”

Linhardt doesn’t reply. 

“Don't worry, I won’t tease you. Goddess knows you’ve refrained from mocking me many times over. Just don’t go breaking his sweet little heart, all right? He’s liked you for long enough as it is.”

Linhardt chokes, coughing. Dorothea just laughs, pounding him on the back. 

“I’m rooting for you two,” she says as Linhardt coughs. “We all need a little bit of happiness right now.” Without waiting for his reply, she stands, making her way back over to Petra, who grins at her with utter sunshine in her eyes, taking her hand as she sits. 

Linhardt, once he gains control of his breathing, ruminates on her words. Caspar? Liking him? He doesn’t know quite how to feel about that. 

He forces the thought out of his mind. It doesn’t matter. It’s not true. It doesn’t matter. And even if it does, it’s not true.

He makes eye contact with Caspar across the hall, and Caspar grins, giving Linhardt a thumbs up as he takes a pull out of a bottle of gin. 

Linhardt can’t help but smile back. 

* * *

**+1**

* * *

The war is ending. 

Or, at least, that’s what everyone is saying. Linhardt doesn’t quite know if he believes it or not. 

He has yet to talk to Caspar about what Dorothea told him that night three moons ago - he’s been much too stressed with keeping them alive to do so. 

Regardless, he has been _noticing_.

It’s in the way Caspar makes excuses to come to Linhardt’s room, whether it be with a new book that he thinks Linhardt might like, hot chocolate blended with angelica at night to help him sleep, lunch or dinner when he naps right through meals, the very fact that he knows not to wake Linhardt for breakfast. The way he lingers, holding his breath, whenever Linhardt leans over him at the strategy table, pointing at something on the desk in front of them.

It makes Linhardt’s chest tighten and his heart flutter, and he doesn’t quite know what to do with all that.

In fact, it's bothering him so much that, at this moment, he's laying on his cot in his tent, unable to sleep after a day full of marching, his least favorite form of exercise.

It’s somehow too stifling in his bedroll, but too freezing outside of it. Goddess. 

He wonders if Caspar’s still awake. 

He wonders if he should get up and find out.

Grumbling, he swings his legs over the side of his cot, rubbing his eyes. Fuck it. 

He pulls on his robe.

Linhardt doesn't know what he's expecting when he pushes open Caspar's tent flap, but he's not surprised to see Caspar, on his feet, muttering under his breath as he swings at invisible enemies with his bare fists.

"Are you winning?" Linhardt teases after watching for a moment.

Caspar startles, hand over his heart as he turns. "Linhardt? Goddess, what the hell?"

Linhardt laughs. "Apologies, Caspar. I didn't mean to startle you." He opens the tent flap further, stepping inside. "I thought you might be asleep by now, with talk of a battle tomorrow."

"Says you," Caspar says. "And why even come by if you thought I was asleep?" 

"Well, I was rather hoping you wouldn't be." 

Linhardt isn't sure if he's imagining the pink flush on Caspar's cheeks, or if it's simply exertion from training.

"By all means," Linhardt says. "Don't let me stop you." He crosses the tent, sitting on Caspar's cot with his feet on the floor. "Please, continue."

Caspar just stands there, staring at Linhardt with a strange, unreadable look in his eye. "Nah, that's okay." He swallows. "That's kinda weird."

"I watch you train all the time," Linhardt yawns. "But if you rather, I can go back to my own tent-"

"No!" Caspar cuts him off. Linhardt smiles. "I'd just, you know, rather talk to you than train right now, I guess."

"That's just fine with me." 

Caspar all but jumps down onto the cot next to Linhardt, knocking their shoulders together as he shifts into a comfortable position. 

"Are you excited for the battle tomorrow?" Caspar asks, almost yelling into Linhardt's ear, but Linhardt doesn't mind it very much at all.

"I'm excited for the war to be done with," Linhardt says. "I do wish it didn't require any more fighting." 

"Aw, don't worry, Lin. I'll protect you so you don't have to fight." Caspar promises, patting Linhardt's knee. 

"Oh? Will you, now?" Linhardt stretches one hand towards Caspar's, nudging Caspar's palm until he can interlock their fingers together. "If I recall correctly, it tends to be _me_ protecting _you_ more often than not in these sorts of situations."

Caspar scoffs. "What? Never. I have all the muscles in this operation, and don't you forget it." 

"I won't," Linhardt laughs, ducking his head. "I do know you're very strong, Caspar."

"You know it!" 

Linhardt sighs, stroking the back of Caspar's hand with his thumb. He can feel Caspar's grin on him, can see it out of the corner of his eye. 

"Listen, Caspar." 

"Yeah?"

"There's something I need to say to you. Just in case."

Linhardt furrows his brow when Caspar groans, pulling his hand away from Linhardt's to put his head in his hands. "Ugh, I hate when you talk like that, Lin. We're both going to survive, okay? Don't jinx us." 

"Right, sorry. I forgot you don't like that." Linhardt chances a hand on Caspar's knee, resuming the same gentle strokes he had been brushing against his hand moments ago. "Still, though, it needs to be said." 

Caspar glances at him between his fingers. 

"And listen closely, because you know I hate to repeat myself." Linhardt swallows. He doesn't quite know why this is so difficult for him - Dorothea's words are ringing in the back of his mind, and there is no worst-case scenario, here. He can do this. He twirls a lock of hair in his free hand, not making eye contact as he says, "I'm very much in love with you. Run away with me?" 

He pauses, then glances at Caspar and almost laughs. He's looking at Linhardt, eyes wide, face so red he looks sunburned. 

"Caspar? Are you quite all right? Do remember to breathe, please. I'm much too tired to revive you if you faint." 

"I'm- You-" Caspar stutters. 

"Yes?" It's much too easy, teasing him like this. 

"You love me?"

"As I said." 

Caspar drops his hands, then throws them in the air just as quickly. "Fuck, Linhardt, I love you. So much." 

"I had a feeling you might."

Caspar laughs, tension leaving his shoulders as he lets out a whoop. "Man, it feels good to say. Wow. I love you, Linhardt."

"I love you, too."

"I love you."

"I love you, too."

"I love you. I love you. I love you, I love you, I love you."

"I love you, too. May I kiss you now, or would you like to keep sitting here, repeating ourselves? I must say, I'm fine either way." 

Caspar nods, grinning. "Yes, please, kiss me. Please." 

Linhardt laughs, moving his hands to the back of Caspar's head and leaning in. 

It's soft, and sweet, and gentle, and Linhardt wonders how it took them this long to get to this point.

* * *

**+2**

* * *

Caspar pulls away, and then leans back in again, one hand tangled in Linhardt's hair, the other pressed flat against his chest. 

Linhardt doesn't mind his over-enthusiasm in this moment, not one bit. 

* * *

**+3**

* * *

Linhardt pulls away, pressing a kiss to Caspar's forehead. "I love you," he whispers. 

Caspar laughs. 

* * *

**+4**

* * *

Linhardt tilts his head, and he can feel Caspar's smile against his lips. He lets himself fall backward onto the cot, Caspar's hands on his waist as he follows, their legs tangling together. 

Linhardt stops counting after that.

**Author's Note:**

> Stan Casphardt and come talk to me on tumblr (@dorogrids) or twitter (@bizzybee429)!


End file.
